Beneath the tepid summer night
Soft footfalls came to tread,
The bursting of the fireflies’
Lights sprinkling overhead.
The people who bore witness
Had nothing like it seen before:
Sparkling spritz a-fizzling out
- some place between the sky and floor.
Such blinking lights
Were but little bugs,
Bearing magic where they went.
And no noise made the fireflies
But as micro shooting stars were sent.
One day of mediocrity
By one numinous moment
– neither sought nor well-deserved.
A thing of fortuity
And lucky enough was I to be
Here-now with these fireflies.
To share where space-time intersects
With those transient insects
In rolling Tuscan hills that wait
Behind an evening never forgot,
Because to over-clipse the fireflies
- With their precious light that dies -
Will nothing never not.